


I was getting used to being someone you loved

by AudreyBlanche



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, I made fluff happen, M/M, because my heart couldn't take the pain, look it's fluff!, reference to past childhood abuse, seriously this will be so angsty, these two are ruining my life and i love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-07 00:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyBlanche/pseuds/AudreyBlanche
Summary: Disjointed collection of short stories about how Michael and Alex have always and will always be in love with each other.Shared history isn't always easy and sometimes reconnecting is the hardest thing you do.





	1. Too Far Away To Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw all the angst and tension the show graced us with and my brain was like: "But just imagine how much more angsty you can make this!" Then this happened.  
> If I have to suffer so do you.
> 
> Title from "Someone You Loved" by Lewis Capaldi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: "Without Me" by Halsey

"Remember that kid, Alex, from high school?" Isobel said by way of greeting as she approached Michael.

Michael shrugged nonchalantly.

"He's back from Iraq. They're throwing him a party tomorrow. You should come."

She pulled a beer from the cooler next to his chair and sat down next to him.

"Think I'll pass."

"Oh come on! There's going to be a buffet and probably some free drinks as well. You wouldn't let me sit there all night by myself, would you?" She attempts a pout but it isn’t very convincing.

"As if Noah would ever let you go by yourself." He looks at her from under his hat, trying to figure out if there was more to her inquiry.

She meets his eyes. "At least think about it," she then asks and he acquiesces. She didn't look too upset so he figures he can just pick a random excuse when the time comes.

She doesn't need to know how his heart still trips over itself every time he hears Alex's name.

***

The bar is full to bursting when Michael rolls up. He's never seen so many people in here, but apparently for a decorated war hero they all decided to show up.

He nods hello to a few people as he makes his way through the knot of people, heading straight for the bar.

A huge banner on the side proclaims a loud "Welcome home", decorated with way to many flags. But the walls aren't the only part of the bar that has donned the stars and stripes. Many of the people inside are wearing a variety of red and blue garments or have a little flag pin fixed on their clothes.

Michael has never entirely understood how people found so much pride and belonging in the denomination of where they had been born. But then again, he doesn't even feel at home on this planet so feeling detached from love for his country is probably not much of a stretch. In any case, he needs to be a lot less sober if he is going to make it through tonight.

Whiskey in hand, he takes a look around the people, trying to catch a glimpse of their returned hero. Just the thought that he might see Alex again, has his stomach fluttering.

But Alex is nowhere to be found. For a minute, Michael considers that he might not recognize Alex after all these years. Then he spots Alex's dad.

The sergeant is sitting a little off to the side, his eyes fixed on a large group of people next to him; the look on his face sends chills down Michael's spine. 

Before he knows what he's doing, Michael is pushing past the people, stumbling out of the bar and back to his truck, taking huge gulping breaths.

As he drives back to his trailer, he tells himself that Alex wouldn’t want to see him anyway.


	2. Can't Let Go Of This Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: "Good Enough" by Evanescence

"Why do you have acetone?" Alex says as he pulls the bottle from between the blankets. They are sitting with their backs against the cab, Michael's sleeping bag and blankets crunched together to make it more comfortable.

Oh shit! He forgot about that. He'd gone through so much acetone lately, ever since his hand, but he'd never even considered someone would find it. He evades Alex's questioning eyes, tries to think of some reason that would make sense. Something that wouldn't completely blow up in his face or create more questions, but his mind is completely blank.

Alex is still looking at him and he stutters, "I don't- I mean… it's … for, you know... Isobel?" It sounds more like a question than a statement, but Alex nods as if what he said made any sense whatsoever.

"Do you think she'd mind?" Alex asks, shaking the bottle lightly.

Michael wants to laugh because if it were Isobel's she would very much mind, but it's his and he certainly doesn't. Instead he bites his lower lip and shakes his head in response.

"You got any cotton balls?"

Michael digs through the mess then holds out a packet of tissues. "These okay?"

"Should do, thanks." Alex takes them from Michael, their fingers almost touching and Michael doesn't move.

The smell hits Michael as soon as Alex opens the bottle. His hand throbs, almost in response. He clenches his teeth and looks away, out into the wide desert.

He can hear the rustling of Alex's clothes as he works on his nails, the occasional clinking when his wallet chain hits the metal of the cargo bed. He looks up at the sky, wonders what would happen if his family came for him now. Wonders if Alex would come with him, if he'd asked.

He closes his eyes until the smell of acetone dissipates.

***

Alex has this focused look on his face, brows creased, mouth twisted to the side, as he applies a new coat of black nail polish. It looks a little ridiculous how he contorts his body to find a good angle to paint his right hand. It feels strangely intimate, watching Alex do this, like Michael wasn’t meant to see this side of him.

When Alex caps the bottle and blows on his nails, Michael gets warm all over. Michael remembers those fingers tugging on his hair, them digging into his back, scratching, clawing, holding on like Alex would've fallen apart if he didn't, remembers how they caressed his face, touching so lightly as to barely make contact, tickling, unlike anyone had ever touched Michael.

He had so many dreams about Alex's hands since that night, knew them so intimately even before then, remembers watching them play the guitar, how stark the contrast was between the black nails and the silvery strings, can now finally admit that he didn't watch so closely because he wanted to learn how to play the guitar.

(Had wanted to feel them, wanted them to move over his body as smoothly as they changed grip, wanted to lick between them, wanted to feel the calluses, wanted to be touched, held, loved-)

Without meaning to he reaches out, plucks Alex's hand off his knee, where they were spread out to dry, draws it over to him so he can get a closer look. Alex makes a surprised sound, but he doesn't pull away. Michael takes his time inspecting the nail polish, moves Alex's hand ever so slightly but careful not to smudge anything. He can see the ragged edges where not enough polished had transferred from the brush, where he can see the lines, how uneven the opacity is while still never see through, one spot where Alex had painted the edge of his cuticle as well.

He leans a little closer still, presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto the back of Alex's hand, hears Alex's sharp intake of breath. He lets it go when Alex pulls his hand away. Michael looks up slowly, trying to gauge if he went too far, if maybe he shouldn't have done that. They hadn't touched since that night. Alex had checked his wounds right after and sometimes their shoulders brushed as they passed one another, but there had been this unspoken space between them that neither of them tried to breach.

And Alex looks gutted, eyes wide, mouth open, like he is about to cry, like he cannot believe Michael just did that. The butterflies are raging in Michael's stomach and he feels a bit dizzy, but he cannot bring himself to move away, to break the contact. Alex doesn't break it either. His hand lands somewhere between them, his whole body leaning forward, the space between them shrinking, Michael holding his gaze, watching as Alex's eyes flicker down to Michael's lips, feels it like punch. A soft, almost broken sounding "Michael" falls from Alex's lips and Michael surges forward, pressing his lips against Alex's, swallows the noise the other boy makes.

Alex kisses him back feverishly, kisses him like he's been starved for it, body bowing into Michael, the angle awkward but oh so good. Michael's good hand moves to the back of Alex's neck, soothing Alex, grounding him, pulling him in closer, Alex's mouth opening wider, little breathy noises getting lost in the sound of their lips meeting, over and over and over again.

Alex's hands are hovering next to Michael's face, not touching, not pushing him away. With a frustrated noise Alex lets them fall to his sides and Michael laughs. He kisses the pout off of Alex's lips and pulls Alex's body into his, until Alex falls clumsily on top of him, their foreheads knocking together, both of them laughing and breathless. Alex uses his elbows to hold himself up a little, fingers still splayed, nose bumping Michael's softly, lips barely brushing. His smile is ethereal and Michael wants to live in this moment forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me about those two: [audreyblanche](http://audreyblanche.tumblr.com)


End file.
